Awkward, Unrequited, Superficial, Toxic, Real Love.

Tommy

I am 3 years old.
I stand by the dirt,
as I am told.
Papa said he'd be back.
Right here.
That's where I stay put.
Papa never wanna talk to me about Momma.
I don't know what it woulda feel like
To give Momma big bear
hugs the way Papa gives me.
I live in a house.
Papa tells me to imagine
its 10 whole square feet.
I don't know what he says means.
There are big rocks on
the floor by where I go
to bedtime every night.
Papa says he hates it when I wake screaming
because he has to clean up the wet smell
from my dirty, wet pajama bottoms.
I wish Momma would hug me.
Papa done told me once, when he was
a littler fella like me, that he
would bring a nice small girl flowers.
He says, "Tommy, when your
Momma and I was young,
we'd hike it up the mountain,
stand real close to one another--"
Papa always put a stop to his
mouth then and wouldn't
never finish the story to me.
Papa hangs my rags,
as he says they are,
on top of our hanger bunk.
I pull them down off
the bunk and he hits me
for not listening to what he says.
Once he tucks me in my quilt,
he says Momma made special
for me, he kisses me on my forehead,
then closes the drapes.
I wait real quietly so I can
hear his feet make going away noise.
I grab my dusty wabbit
and cry before I no cry no more.